


The Consequences of Grace

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Blind Date trope. Jack and Gibbs show up at the same restaurant for what they think are two very different reasons. They end up coming to the same conclusion. Eventually.





	The Consequences of Grace

He let her lure him to his favourite coffee supplier and buy him an extra large before wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. It didn't take long. 

"I need you to be my wingman," she said. 

"I'm a Marine, Grace, not a Flyboy."

“Oh, for God's sake, it's an expression." She tested her steaming beverage with a tentative sip. "I think it's the wrong one, anyway. What I need is a sort of bodyguard."

"If ya need a bodyguard on a date, ya might want to rethink it."

"Says the man who hasn't been on one in a decade."

"That you know of." He had no such reservations about the temperature of his coffee, and took a mouthful.

She laughed long and loud, much to his chagrin. "Yeah, okay Popeye. It's a blind date and I just want to make sure I have an out if I need it. Or some muscle if the situation calls for it."

"Hard time believin' you couldn't take care of it yourself."

"Mmm, this is really good coffee," she praised, taking another sip. "And I could, but it's my favourite restaurant and I don't want to cause a scene."

He snorted at how flippantly she shifted any potential blame onto him. 

"Don't tell me you’re busy Friday night, because we all know _that's_ a lie."

He scowled over the cup rim. "Not really makin' a case here, Grace. "

"The bar serves The Macallan. Eighteen year stock. I’ve been told that means something.” Her expression pretended like she didn’t know exactly what that meant.

“Gettin’ better.”

“My tab?” He covered his easy agreement by lifting his cup to his lips, but she knew she had him. “Great! Seven pm, at Lucatelli’s.” She stood and began collecting her things. “And wear a suit. Not that one.”

Looking down at his clothing, he held out his arms. “What’s wrong with this suit?”

Her eyebrows said everything. “I believe the kids these days would call it a ‘Dad suit’. Wear something nice.” Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she quickly added, “Not the funeral suit.” Now _his_ eyebrow replied. “Fine. But can you at least wear a nice tie? Something that goes with your eyes?” Not waiting for the retort she could see on his lips, she patted his cheek on her way by. “Thanks, Popeye.”

…..

She looked at herself for the 11th time in the mirror and asked herself what she was doing. Not in the literal sense- in that regard, she knew she was filling in for a fourth on a double-date. 

_Not ‘date’_ , she reminded herself. At least that's what she told Grace.

It was that need for a reminder that brought up the figurative question.

What was she doing?

No amount of prodding from Grace could get her to reveal the identity of her yearning that day, and so they ended their session with a question- _what do you do now?_ Which was why Jack wasn't entirely annoyed by Grace's obvious push. There were only two answers to the question. Either she ignored the problem and moved on, or she dealt with it head on. Considering the man behind the problem, Jack had decided on the former. There were too many risks in choosing the latter. Grace had accepted her answer with a small murmur, but offered nothing more. Until now. If it didn't mean having to analyze her own feelings, Jack would've applauded the therapist's ploy. It was time to shit or get off the pot, as her dad used to say.

Which was why she was standing in front of the mirror in a dress that was on the conservative side of sexy, hair up and heels on. Jewelry was tasteful yet minimal, as was her makeup. ‘ _Safe_ ’ _is the word you're looking for_ , she scolded. It was enough to make it look like she had put in the effort, but downplayed enough that Grace would see right through it. She sighed. She wasn’t dressing for Grace, she was dressing for- what was his name?- Robert? Richard? If he noticed and was still interested, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad trade-off after all.

“Probably shouldn’t consider a date as a ‘trade-off’,” she said aloud. “Sounds like you’re settling.”

Which was exactly what she was doing, but she pushed that hard dash of reality aside, grabbed her keys and was out the door before she could change her mind.

…..

“Yeah.”

“Have I told you how much I love how you answer your antique phone?”

“Haven’t seen you come in yet,” Gibbs said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Sure you can afford the tab?”

She did the same with his retort. “You wearing that funeral suit I asked you not to wear?”

“Is that rhetorical?”

“Did you at least wear a nice tie?”

He glanced down. “Yep. Blue. I’ve been told it goes with my eyes.”

“Oh, listen to you on a roll tonight. Who told you that? The salesman at JC Penney?” She heard him order another drink. “Jesus, you _are_ drinking The Macallan, aren’t you? All right, fine. I’m sure you look nice. We’re just running late, so don’t drink the whole bottle.”

“No promises.”

She looked at her phone when it went dead.

…..

_Running late. Told him to meet you in the bar. Blue tie. Relax. Have a whiskey. Get to know him._

_Great_ , she thought. She had hoped to avoid the awkward feeling out stages by having Grace there as a buffer. Now she’d have to spend alone time, ‘getting to know’ him. She was going to throttle Grace.

She turned the corner into the bar and scanned the room for a blue tie. That clue only matched one man.

Yep, she was definitely going to throttle her.

….

The bar was too small to risk making a break for it. If he saw her leaving, there’d be questions on Monday and he was too damn good at interrogations to not get the answers out of her. But she didn’t immediately step into the room, either. Instead, she took the rare advantage she was given to just _look_ at him. She snickered at the one suit he had for all formal occasions, though it was never about the clothes he wore. It was always about the way he sat, so quietly confident in a place he didn’t seem to know, though he had obviously already made friends with the bartender. It was always about his hands, large and strong, lazily curled around his glass, a dichotomy of strength and care. (Though, for him, those were often the same thing.) It was always about his eyes, blue and clear, blue and soft, blue and angry. Just always blue. Always seeing deeper than she expected. Always feeling more than she suspected. 

And currently looking right at her.

“Shit.” Knowing there was no going back now, she offered a small smile and walked to the bar. 

He waited for her to sit in the proffered stool he had pulled out for her and took the opportunity to discreetly take in her dress. 

“You look nice,” he said, the honesty coming out softer than he had intended.

She paused in mid-sit motion and shook her head in amusement. She might have spent all that time purposely underdressing, but of course, to him, it wouldn’t have mattered either way. One of the many things she loved about him was the simple way he looked at things. He would never be led into being impressed by something- either he was or he wasn’t, and no amount of ‘churching it up’ would matter. If he said she looked nice, it was because he enjoyed and appreciated her understated look. 

Before he could ask her what the grin was for, she asked, “What are you going here?”

He turned sideways on his stool and lifted his glass. “Teachin’ someone a lesson by runnin’ up a tab.” When she tilted her head to encourage him to continue, he said, “Grace’s on some kinda ‘blind date’ and I’m supposed to be backup.”

Jack laughed at the inflection he put in the term, because it said everything he thought about ‘blind dates’.

“Your turn.” 

Pieces quickly fell into place for Jack, though she wasn’t sure how he was going to take it. Manipulation was never a favourite of his, even if it had been orchestrated by one of his oldest friends. She went with something indirect, knowing he’d put the rest together himself.

“Apparently, I’m here to have some good whiskey and get to know a man in a blue tie.” The bartender came over and she said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Glancing over, she added, “Nice, by the way. Brings out the colour in your eyes.”

She wasn’t sure what reaction she was expecting when he discovered what Grace had done, but laughter definitely wasn’t one. But there he was, laughing and shaking his head. When the bartender came over with Jack’s drink, Gibbs jerked his chin towards the bottle.

“She leave her credit card open?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then bring it over, Albert,” he said.

The bartender grinned and nodded and placed the bottle in front of Gibbs’ glass.

Jack’s eyes widened. “That’s a $200 bottle of whiskey, Gibbs.”

“Yep.”

“Always said, ‘Find yourself a woman who knows whiskey’,” Albert said, winking at Jack, then moving down the end of the bar to serve another customer.

“She’s going to kill you,” Jack said.

“She’ll be lucky if I don’t kill her,” he retorted. 

It occurred to her, however happy she was to be sharing a drink with him, that with his fake bodyguard duties done, he might not want to be there. Swirling the amber liquid in the glass, she said, “I could go.”

He nodded. “You could. Or, you could stay.” Her eyes met his and he shrugged. “Help me finish this bottle.”

He was direct in so many ways except when it came to his personal thoughts. At work? Sure. There was no secret when he was angry or frustrated or pleased. In a black suit and stunning blue tie, at a bar in a small Italian restaurant, with a good measure of whiskey keeping him warm? His book wasn’t just closed- it was locked, wrapped in a burlap sack and buried in the backyard of his emotions. Her phone took that moment to ring.

When she saw the name on her screen, she turned it to Gibbs. Holding a finger to her lips, she swiped to answer the call.

“Hey, where are you?” There was a silence as Grace replied. “Oh, he had to work late? That’s too bad. No, I didn’t see anyone at the bar. Just Gibbs, of all people, if you can believe it.” Her voice dripped with feigned disbelief. “Yeah, of all the places, right? He said something about being your bodyguard.” More silence from Jack’s end. “Yeah, I figured he misunderstood, too, because why would you need a bodyguard when it’s a double-date?” She winked at Gibbs who was clearly enjoying the joust. “I’m just going to have a drink with Gibbs then head home. Yeah, I could, but it’s been a long week. Probably for the best it turned out this way. I’ll tell him.” He lightly snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, he wants to talk to you.”

“They’ve got The Macallan 25,” was all he said. Grace’s protests were loud enough to be heard as he handed the phone back to Jack.

She held the phone away from her ear until Grace ran out of steam, then said, “We’ll talk Monday. We are _so_ going to talk Monday.” The call ended with a swipe and Jack tossed the phone into her little bag.

“Never understood how a woman can fit everything into a bag like that on a night out, but need luggage every other day.”

“It’s one of our deepest mysteries.”

He snorted. “Among many.” Finishing his drink, he swivelled in his seat and looked into the restaurant. “Albert.” 

The bartender came over. “What can I get ya?”

“A table in the restaurant?”

Albert followed his gaze. “Sure. Lemme go look.”

Jack’s eyes watched him come out from behind the bar, then turned to Gibbs. “Are you inviting me to dinner?”

The playful wonder in her voice brought out the smirk. “How else are ya going to get to know me?”

Fortunately, her loss for words was covered by Albert’s re-appearance.

“Talk to Sophie,” he told Gibbs, pointing to the young girl at the entrance. “She’s got a table waiting.”

Taking out his wallet, Gibbs left a generous tip and thanked him. He hooked the bottle and their cups in one hand and helped Jack off the stool. The bartender made eye contact with Sophie, who greeted them with a warm smile.

“Albert said you were looking for a table. Please, follow me.”

The dining room was large enough to be welcoming, yet small enough to be intimate if required, and Albert must have thought it was, because Sophie led them to a small table in a low lit corner. 

Nodding appreciatively when Gibbs held out Jack's chair before taking his own seat, Sophie said, "I know this is your first time here, so if you'd like, I could make suggestions, or bring you a menu."

"How'd you know it's our first time here?" Gibbs asked, not without genuine curiosity.

She smiled. "If you don't mind me saying, you look more like a meat and potatoes man. Not that we can't accommodate you, but that's not what most people come here for."

Gibbs tilted his head towards Jack. "And her?"

"Who could forget such a beautiful woman?"

It wasn’t the words but the way Gibbs looked at her that made Jack turn away from those blue eyes. She knew she ran the risk of misinterpreting things, of seeing only her wants in his reactions, and she needed to nip that in the bud before she made a complete idiot of herself. 

Without looking away, Gibbs asked, “What would you recommend, Sophie?”

Sensing the charged air between them, Sophie smiled. “It’s going to sound very clichéd, but the lasagna really is the best in the city.” 

He leaned to the side far enough to catch Jack’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” she replied, getting a hold of herself. She raised her head to Sophie. “That sounds wonderful. And as good as this whiskey is, maybe a bottle of wine?”

“I’ll have Albert recommend something. Will this be on Ms. Confalone’s tab?”

Gibbs devilishly contemplated the idea for so long that Jack piped up. “I’ll get it.”

If she ever wanted to offend the man, she knew how to do it now.

“Like hell you will,” he retorted. To Sophie, he said, “I got it.” 

“Wonderful,” she nodded. “I’ll be back with your wine.”

“What?” he asked a bemused Jack once Sophie was out of earshot.

“Nothing. You’re just very old-fashioned.”

“That a bad thing?”

“No, not at all. It’s one of the things I love about you.” The ‘L’ word slipped out, though he didn’t seem to notice. “So,” she quickly went on, “do you often bodyguard for Grace?”

He choked back a grunt. “You often double-date with her?”

His question didn’t seem as throwaway as hers. In fact, there was something unexpectedly unguarded in it. It sounded like he genuinely wanted an answer, and yet didn’t exactly want to know the truth if it went a certain way.

“I didn’t even want to do it,” she admitted, knowing she could never lie to him.

This made him lean forward. He covered the movement by curling a hand around his glass. “So why did you?”

Sophie appeared with a bottle and two glasses and poured a small amount into each. Gibbs was aware of the gesture and nudged his chin in Jack’s direction.

“I don’t know wine from grape juice,” he said, encouraging Jack to do the honours. 

Which would have been fine had he not chosen the moment to seemingly catalogue every gesture she made, as if he didn’t know how to taste wine. And every step, of course, primarily involved her mouth. Something had changed from the time she arrived in the bar to the time he decided to invite her to stay, and it both confused her and lit a fire within her.

She swirled the glass, focusing on the contents and not on him, inhaled the bouquet and finally took a sip. 

"This is wonderful," she said, avoiding Gibbs' attentive gaze.

Sophie nodded approvingly and filled their glasses. "Dinner will be here shortly. If you need anything in the meantime, just ask."

"So why did you?" Gibbs asked again, picking right up where they had left off. Seeing her surprise, he shrugged, "How else am I gonna get to know you?"

It was nearly the same thing he had said when he suggested dinner and Jack was just amused enough by his play-acting and frustrated by his obtuseness to shelve her caution.

"How else is a new girl in town supposed to meet someone?"

His clenched jaw was well-hidden, but not completely. "How many've you been on?"

She looked off to the side as if mentally checking a ledger. "Oh, in the past year, I'd say-" Her pause made the jaw clench tighter. "A dozen?" So she _could_ lie to him.

The number irritated him, partly because it was too high (though anything over 1 would've been given the same scorn), partly because 12 men either couldn’t treat her well enough to get a second date or they found her lacking in some way. He pushed down the part of his brain that was telling him the deficiencies of 12 assholes had left the door open for him.

"Assholes."

She was sure he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, because it was a barely whispered judgment. Finding her wine the most interesting thing in the world, she went for honesty again.

"I'm not the easiest person to get to know."

"Who is?"

Of course he'd say something to get her off the hook, but while appreciative of it, she shook her head. "Lots of baggage. Including the dreaded 'unrequited feelings'."

His brows came together as he tried to decipher her words and she couldn't help but laugh at the image of him trying to figure out women and their feelings. 

She broke it down into simpler terms. "I have the hots for someone and he doesn't have the hots for me." 

"I know what 'unrequited' means," he said with an eyeroll. "Just tryin' to figure out what idiot wouldn’t have the hots for you." 

She tilted her head and waited for his words to reach his ears. She knew the exact moment because he retorted, "What?"

"Nothing. It's just nice to be noticed. Thank you."

"I've always noticed you, Jack."

_There it was again_ , she thought. That same shift in the air that got them sitting across from each other in the first place. She screwed up her courage with an abundant sip of wine before asking, "Have you?"

If either noticed Sophie coming out with the food, taking one look at the table then turning right back around into the kitchen, neither said. 

"You came into my life like a damn hurricane and never left. How could I not?"

Though the words were flattering, they weren't the ones she wanted -needed- to hear. She didn't want to simply be a presence in his life. Picking up her sinking heart, she looked around the room until she saw her temporary escape. "Let me just use the ladies' room before dinner comes."

He lifted slightly in his seat when she stood, puzzled at her abruptness, but she was already gone by the time he thought to ask her what was wrong.

…..

“Yeah.”

“I just called to make sure you weren’t really ringing up a thousand dollar tab,” Grace said on the other end of the phone. “And to see how things were going.” The last bit was added in a light sing-song way.

“Was this a set-up the whole time, or was this supposed to be a double-date?”

Grace’s tone waved off his irritation. “Please. Of course it was a set-up the whole time. And I don’t double-date. Especially not with you.”

He ignored the last comment because it was the second one that got his attention. “Jack said you two double-date all the time.”

“Really?” she replied. “Interesting.”

He was well familiar with her pause- it meant she was putting together a hypothesis. “Grace…”

“What?” She decided not to leave him hanging, though she wasn’t going to lay it all out on the table, either. “Gibbs, she’s gone on one date since she’s been in D.C. And we know how that went.” Neither needed to be reminded of Masahun. 

The information formed a deep line between his brows. “Why would she lie to me?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

The obviousness of the question made him bristle. “I would, but she’s in the head.”

“You Marines and your jargon. The bathroom? What did you say to her?”

The bristle turned to indignation. “Why do you automatically think I said something?”

The snort did nothing to lessen his annoyance. “Please. Five engagements, four marriages, three divorces. What’s the common denominator there?” 

"Women?"

His sarcasm nearly made her bite through her tongue. So many things she wanted to say, but she knew she was treading a fine line between Jack's Therapist and Jack's Friend, and owed her the benefit of choosing the former. It wasn't her place to slap Gibbs' upside the head. But she wasn't entirely without options, either. 

"Maybe she's just waiting for an idiot to get his head out of his ass. God help her."

His head jerked back when the phone went dead, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of an abrupt conclusion. He was still glaring at the screen when Sophie arrived. 

"Sorry for the wait," she apologized, setting down 2 steaming plates of food. "The chef's a perfectionist. She's also my mom, so," she finished the thought with a shrug and a smile. "Should I wait for your guest?"

He shook his head, bringing his attention around to the girl. "No. She's just gonna be a minute."

"Okay. I'll come back to see how things are going."

_How things are going_. He glanced towards the bathroom then back to his phone and wondered the same thing.

…..

He rose from his seat when she returned to the table and waited for her to sit before asking, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine." She inhaled the aroma from her plate and said, "This smells delicious!" When no reply came, she opened her eyes and immediately caught his dismay. "What's wrong?" 

His eyes bore into hers. "Just wonderin' how many times you're gonna lie to me."

Her eyebrows went up even as her heart sank. "What?"

"I asked you if everything was okay, you lied to me. I asked you about double-datin' with Grace, you lied to me."

She quickly put things together. "She called to make sure you weren't really charging a thousand dollar whiskey to her tab."

"Yep. Then I chewed her out for pullin' one over on me only to find she wasn't the only one."

She didn't dare ask him why it was such a big deal. She was pretty sure that would get a look to turn her to stone. Instead, she phrased it somewhat less combative. "Is it really that important for you to know how much I'm dating?" 

"Simple question."

Using the best-defence-is-a-good-offense strategy, she coughed out a laugh. "Says the man who wouldn't even tell us he was engaged to a murder victim."

His eyes went cold. "Wasn't relevant."

"No," she replied, "you're right. Not at all relevant to a murder investigation."

"Simple question," he said again, ignoring her sarcasm.

"That doesn't have a simple answer. Can we just leave it?" she asked, feeling the situation slowly slipping away from her under his unwavering gaze. 

He hadn't expected the dodge. It _was_ a simple question- all he wanted to know was how many jackasses she had dated- and he focused on her refusal to answer it rather than his unrelenting need to know the answer.

"Grace said you were waitin' for some idiot to get his head out of his ass."

Hearing him quote her, very likely verbatim, made her smile despite the truth she was going to have to face.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" She took a sip of her wine and contemplate her options. She supposed she could always move back to California. Would have to be under the cover of night. Discreetly. She wondered if her Mini Cooper would be big enough to carry her embarrassment. 

_Oh for God's sake, Jacqueline, get a fucking grip._

"You're the idiot, you idiot."

He blinked twice. "What?"

She used his confusion to taste the food. Touching the corner of her mouth to stop the sauce from dripping, she moaned. “This is so good.”

He blinked twice more. “What?”

“The food,” she said. “It’s delicious. Have you tried it?”

“Jack.”

She was doing so well with her bravado until she had to look at him again. 

"What?" Her question held none of his confusion. Instead, it was threaded with defeat.

Looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, he knew he wasn't a stupid man, but Jesus Christ, she was right- he was an idiot. Hand holds, soft words and even softer touches. He had fought vainly to kiss her head and not her lips that winter evening, despite how easy her arm had gone around his waist and her smile had tilted up to his. Now, she sat across from him, in an understated dress that did nothing to hide her beauty, the smile a memory replaced by resignation. He had pushed until she relented, and her eyes, pinched with pain, told him of the sacrifice she had just made.

"I'm an idiot."

Those very same eyes went wide before relaxing into a stare that he held, not defiantly but honestly. Brown eyes shimmered copper as they softened, defenses retreating and taking their opaqueness with them. The light that began to flicker in her eyes pulled up the corners of her mouth. His, too.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed, the grin blooming into a full blown smile at his expression. She nodded almost to herself, like she had come to a crossroads and made a decision. He’d have to wait to find out what it might be, because all she said was, “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

…..

They didn’t speak of what transpired between them, only of work and news and casual conversation, the air between them charged and yet more comfortable somehow. An ease settled over them in a way they hadn’t quite had before. Part of it was the bottle of wine they’d polished off, but more of it was having the knowledge of who they were, flaws and all, and yet still having the potential for more. 

An older woman approached them with a plate and the most decadent dessert Jack had ever seen. 

“I’m Serafina,” she introduced herself, touching her chef’s jacket. “I’m also part owner with my husband, my parents, 2 cousins and a daughter.” Her list made both Gibbs and Jack laugh. “Very glad to have served you this evening. Sophie told me all was well?”

Jack put her hand on her heart. “Better than well. Everything was perfect.”

Serafina gave a please yet knowing nod. “Then no better way to end the meal than with a little something sweet. _Cannoli al cacao con ricotta_ , with cherry and dark chocolate _semifreddo_. A house specialty.” She placed the plate in front of Jack but made sure both spoons were in obvious sight. 

“I don’t remember ordering this,” Jack said, narrowing her eyes at Gibbs.

The older woman laughed and touched the corner of her eye. “Careful with that one,” she playfully warned Jack. “He sees all.”

“So I’m beginning to find out.”

She took Jack’s hand in hers and covered both hands with her left. “I hope to see you both again.”

Warmed by the gesture, Jack smiled. “I hope so, too.”

Alone with Gibbs again, she asked, “How _did_ you know?”

“I’m investigator, kinda my job.” He smirked, then gave in. “Sophie brought one over to the table by the window. I told ya I was gonna set myself on fire and you didn’t even blink.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That’s not-” She was going to say ‘true’, but quickly recounted the memory. “How I remember it happening.” He nodded knowingly and she wrinkled her nose in response. Looking down at the dessert, she wondered, “How am I going to burn all these calories?”

Unable to resist the opening, he slyly replied, “That’s what I’m here for.” He let the double entendre hang for a beat before taking the second spoon and scooping up a mouthful.

She looked across the table with an investigative eye, because there was something new about him. Oh, he was always charming- she was certain the nurse who delivered him was still swooning- but there was something different in his face, his eyes, his voice. The assuredness that a man has when he’s confident with women remained, but it was softened somehow, like the ease in knowing he had an invitation made his flirtations mean something deeper, even if they were boyishly silly.

She rested her chin on her hand and turned her pink cheeks away and chuckled. “I can’t believe I set that up for you. And you took it!” Her eyes quickly went to his. “Don’t say it!”

His mouth was half-open to volley something back, but her warning halted the words and he simply spooned another mouthful of dessert.

…..

Despite having half a pot of what Gibbs deemed 'decent' coffee, when he settled the bill (over a scowl when Jack tried to pay half), he had asked Sophie to call them a cab. 

"We can come back in the morning," he told Jack.

The evening's tone had mischievously invited her into his newfound teasing. With a sly raised eyebrow, she murmured, "Are you asking me to spend the night?"

His nonchalant shrug paired with a devilish smirk. "I've got some etchings I've been dyin' to show you."

Remembering her earlier comment about his old-fashionedness, she burst out laughing. 

"I can't wait to see them."

The lightness between them burned away when their eyes met. A reminder of how the dinner started and how the night was likely going to end seemed to suddenly come to them both. His eyes went a smokey blue with promises of turning whatever thoughts were running through his head into reality and the transformation in his expression took her breath away.

"Jesus," she whispered, though loud enough for him to hear. "Don't look so smug."

"Can't help it."

He made it sound like the sexist compliment in the world. Trying for sternness but ending up with heat, she said, "We need to leave. Right now."

He pulled back her chair and held the door and did everything he could to give his hands something to do besides this sudden (was it really sudden, though?) need to touch her. The green light had been given, but he wasn't a teenager with his first girl. There would be plenty of time.

She didn't seem to think the same, because when he let her into the cab first, she didn't slide across to the other seat, forcing him (yeah, lots of arm twisting) to sit right beside her. She clearly also didn't agree with the idea of giving his hands mundane things to do that didn't include touching her, because she took his hand in hers and placed it on her knee. He choked back a moan, much to her delight, when she ever-so-slightly parted her legs.

"Don't look so smug," he said, pinning her with her own accusation. 

Her lopsided grin would be his undoing, of that he was certain. 

"Can't help it." He made a second sound, different from the first. "Honey, don't growl at the driver." 

She barely covered the squeal that escaped when he squeezed her knee in retaliation. Laughing into his shoulder, she revelled in the weight that had been lifted from her heart, and the easy comfort she found in just being with him. She took advantage of the fresh page by curling her fingers around the inside of his thigh. When he inched back to avoid her travelling touch getting anywhere dangerous, she raised her head to whisper into his ear.

“It’s been years since I’ve made out in the backseat.”

Keeping his eye on the driver who was blessedly minding his own business, Gibbs said, “We’ll hafta rent a car, because the truck doesn’t have one, an’ I sure as hell ain’t getting anywhere in the backseat of yours.”

She couldn’t remember laughing so much in the flirtatious company of a man. He felt her wistfulness sighed into his neck.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, lifting her head to show him she was being truthful. “I just… this is new and good and… I haven’t had good for a long time.”

“You can have it for as long as you want it.”

She caught his eyes in the dim light of the cab, street lights flickering past to alter the colour from blue to grey to blue. If she couldn’t read the solemn vow in his eyes, she could feel it in his touch, his hand reaching up to brush her hair back and hold her still. And she could definitely feel it in his lips when they brushed against hers, a scouting mission waiting for the ‘all-clear’ signal which she happily, willingly, gave. The kiss wasn’t just a taste of what was to come (though by God, if that was just a taste, she couldn’t wait for the rest) but an unwavering promise of what would always be. She stroked her hand down his cheek and rested a forefinger on his chin before pulling back an inch. She smiled when his mouth followed her. 

“This isn’t-” He caught her bottom lip while she tried to get a word in edgewise. “I didn’t imagine our first kiss like this.”

“You imagined our first kiss?” he asked, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to see his smirk. The confidence flowed through his voice even as he nipped his way up her jaw to her ear. 

“Don’t be an ass.”

His chuckle was low and it vibrated right down to the pit of her stomach. “Where did you imagine this first kiss?”

“Your basement. Against your boat. A glass of whiskey in my hand.”

His head pulled back to take in her words. “You really _have_ thought about this.”

“On more than one lonely night, let me tell you.”

He caught her hand moving up to his groin. “Ah!”

“Would you like me to tell you?”

By the grace of God, the cab pulled up outside Gibbs’ house, saving him from having to explain to Leon how his best agent and his best psychologist were arrested for public indecency. Still, he was going to have to get creative with his angles when he stood to hide the reaction his body was having to her touch. Her smell. Her goddamn crooked smile.

They barely made it inside before he was pressed between the door and her mouth. Her confidence in taking control didn't surprise him - her self-assuredness was her hallmark and the first thing that attracted him to her- but to be on the receiving end didn't do anything to lessen the tightness in his pants. Her hands that held a pen and a gun with equal grace and strength held his head still while her lips staked a claim on everything it could reach- his mouth, his jaw, a sweet spot on the tip of his ear he didn’t realize he had in decades of being with women. Her chuckle was deep and low and nearly made him forget his name. He stilled her movements by holding her hips firm.

"Wait." The uncertainty that flashed across her face made him edit his words. "Wait right here." 

Before she could ask why, he was up his stairs as fast as his knees would take him, and came down nearly as fast. He had something in his hand, though she couldn’t see. Getting down on one knee, he looked up into her mischievous eyes. 

"This is awfully sudden, isn’t it?"

"Don't be a smart ass. Basement gets cold. Gimme your foot." He patted his bent leg, inviting her to rest on his thigh. When she complied, he slipped on a wool sock over her stockings, squeezed her foot, then wordlessly gestured for the other, and did the same.

"You didn’t just try to sneak a peek under my dress, did you?"

Gingerly standing, he remarked, "Didn’t think I was gonna have to sneak it."

"Play your cards right and you won't." With that, she made her way to the basement, leaving him with his mouth agape. 

…..

He was right, the basement got cold. She could feel the change in temperature as she went down, step by step. A grey sweatshirt was draped on a nearby work station, and she picked it up and dusted it off before pulling it over her head. 

"Help yourself," he said dryly, joining her at the bottom of the stairs. "Looks better on you anyway." He looped his arms around her waist and decided seeing her in his oversized sweater and wool socks was his new favourite look for her. And he had a few. He stopped her eye roll with a quick, “Don’t argue,” and moved in for a kiss. When their lips touched, he froze. “Wait.”

“Again?” she groaned against his mouth. “Girl’s starting to feel like she’s not wanted.”

“Girl’s gotta learn patience.” 

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he walked her across the basement, his eyes full of mirth and heat. It wasn’t until her back touched the boat that she realized what he was doing and laughed. The walls welcomed the sound as much as he did. With a finger on her chin, he silently gave her the order again before reaching for a nearby glass and bottle. He blew into the glass and used the hem of the sweater to clean it out.

“So classy,” she mockingly praised with a teasing in her voice he chose to ignore.

The amber poured into the crystal, the basement’s single light making the whiskey turn gold. He handed it to her then stepped back to admire his handiwork. She glanced down at her attire.

“Definitely _not_ the way I pictured it.”

Cocking his head to the side, his trained eye examined her and concluded, “No. Me, either.” Her eyes widened and he half-heartedly shrugged. “Lots of lonely nights, Sloane.” Covering his frank confession, he curled his hand over hers and brought the glass to his lips, then angled the drink to hers. Watching her watching him, he wondered if he’d said too much. Wondered if he’d gotten too sentimental, too soft, too-

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said, pulling him to her mouth by the tie that went so well with his eyes.

…..

-end


End file.
